


POUND TOWN

by GaylornGalvatron



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fatherhood, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Smoking, Swearing, Teenage Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22128571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaylornGalvatron/pseuds/GaylornGalvatron
Summary: Mickey and Ian are celebrating an anniversary and there’s a party going on at their house, except nobody invited them.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 13
Kudos: 94





	POUND TOWN

“Yevgeny! Get your ass in here!” 

“Just my ass, Dad? What about the rest of me?” 

“Don’t encourage him,” Mickey muttered to a mirthful Ian, who immediately wrapped his smirk around another forkful of egg white omelette. “And what the fuck are you eating?”

Turning away in disgust, Mickey tried again. “Get your smart ass in here before I kick your ass.”

“Fuck my life,” Mickey thought he heard his son groan; moments later he saw a denim clad pair of legs, complete with twerking butt, enter through the kitchen doorway.

"Jesus Ian. Did you teach him that move?"

“You say it like it’s a bad thing…” Ian replied with a grin and hip shake.

Meanwhile Yev plopped his 14-year old ass into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Dad, man, I got my own moves. I could show this guy,” jamming a finger toward his stepfather, ”a thing or two.”

“Pffft,” his dads snorted perfectly in sync. Yev couldn’t help but wonder if they rehearsed for moments such as this.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Yev shot his Milkovich eyebrows up for extra emphasis, “what? My ass is here like you commanded, Pops.”

“You got all your shit together?” Mickey asked. “Don’t wanna be making trips to drop off crap you forget to pack.”

Yev crossed his arms over his chest and poked his chin out in defiance. “Nope. I ain’t goin’”.

He’d learned that move from Ian. 

“Well you ain’t staying home alone and you sure as fuck ain’t coming with us,” Mickey informed him.

“But Daaaaaad,” Yev whined, blue eyes filled with despair. “They live in the _country_! Have you ever been to the country?”

Mickey and Ian shared a look, memories of a few illegal midnight escapades passing between them. 

“Once or twice.”

Yev’s pout became a frown. “When? You’ve seen cows, Dad? I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t try and change the subject. Get your shit, you’re going.”

Ian patted Yev’s shoulder. “And Forest Lawn is not the country, Yev. It’s a suburb. Not likely to be many cows.”

“I could name at least one who lives there…” Yev grumbled.

“Don’t speak about your mother that way,” Mickey snapped. “That’s my job. Now, get your ass upstairs.”

“Fine!” Yev spat, slamming his hands on the kitchen table dramatically as he stood, nearly knocking his chair over backwards in the process.

As he sailed from the room in a fit of angst, Mickey eyed his husband. "Definitely learned _that_ from you."

**********

“Yevvy, we’re heading out,” Ian called from the bottom of the staircase. “You need a ride to the L?”

"I'm not a baby! It's still light out for fu--" he paused out of self preservation. "I can get to the stupid country on my own."

“I’ll take that as a no then. I WAS gonna ask if you needed any cash too, but since you’re not a baby…” 

Yev's knock-off Converse sneakers came pounding down the steps, skidding to a stop in front of Ian. "I just wanted to wish you guys a happy whatever corny anniversary it is this time," he panted. "Cause you're the best dads in the universe."

“And don’t you fucking forget it,” Mickey said as Ian laid a couple of bills across Yev’s outstretched palm. “C’mere.”

Mickey patted Yev’s cheek, running the pad of his thumb over the smooth skin. The boy was nearly eye to eye with his father and he straightened slightly to take advantage of that. Mickey lifted a single brow. “Lemme see your phone.”

“Seriously?” Yev sputtered, his own eyebrows ascending. “What? You don’t trust me? Your sweet and innocent only offspring?”

Hand extended, Mickey ignored the comment but Ian, the sap, couldn’t. “Mick...is that necessary?”

Mickey always found Ian harder to ignore, his eyes flitting over to the other set of puppy eyes staring at him.

“How much mischief can he get up to in the “country”?” Ian asked with added air quotes, for the sake of annoying Yev.

"He's a fucking Milkovich, Ian." They both turned to Yev then. 

“Okay, so did YOU wanna call Ma and tell her I’m not coming ‘cause you don’t trust me or shall I?” Yev challenged holding out his phone to his father.

Mickey wanted to keep his balls where they were, hiding from his ex-wife, so he snagged one of the ten dollar bills from his son's hand and stomped out the door. "Enjoy your trip to the country, kid," he threw over his shoulder. 

Ian pressed a kiss on the shorter teen’s hair before following Mickey out. 

“Love ya, buddy,” Ian sang, “and be good!” he added, winking at Yev as he felt Mickey stuff the ten dollar bill into his hand, so he could return it to the boy. Then he pulled the door closed firmly because he’d been planning this trip for a while and wasn’t looking for any hiccups.

“Metallica,” Ian sang in a very un-Metallica manner as they made their way toward the car. “You excited, Mick?”

“Yes, can’t you tell?” he asked calmly unlocking the driver’s side door then glancing straight-faced at Ian. 

“Come on! It’s Breed opening for them!” Ian watched the dark head disappear into the car. Sliding into the passenger seat, he turned to Mickey. “But you are excited, aren’t you?”

Smiling, Mickey tapped his bottom lip. “Gimme a kiss, Gallagher.” After a couple quick swipes of his lip over Ian’s, Mickey pulled away. “I’m more excited about the hotel sex.”

“Happy anniversary, baby!”

Yanking his seatbelt into place, Mickey rolled his eyes. “You think this anniversary thing is maybe getting out of hand, man?”

“Nope,” Ian snapped his belt into place. “I plan to celebrate every damn thing we’ve managed to accomplish, Mick. It’s kinda a miracle we made it to where we are now.”

“Sure, but seriously, we’re celebrating the anniversary of our first time holding fucking hands in public? How the fuck do you even remember all this shit?” Mickey asked, pulling away from the curb..

Yev let the curtain fall back into place, blocking his view of the front street where the taillights of his dads’ car were disappearing. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, nearly shitting his pants with relief.

He ignored the twinge of guilt he felt in deceiving them by reminding himself that all three of his parents had done way worse shit when they were his age.

“It’ll be fine,” he assured himself as his cell phone buzzed in his hand and Gemma’s name appeared. 

For one split second, he considered ignoring the text message and getting his ass on the Red Line out to the boonies, but he figured this could be the only chance he ever got to host a kick ass party since his dads were like a pair of old men who never left the house and his ma would be able to smell a party before it happened.

Ninety seconds later, he ended the call to his mother a little surprised that she’d so easily accepted his claim to be spending the night at a friend’s house. In fact, he could’ve sworn she sounded relieved, not even bothering to ask who the friend was. Yev had yet another reason to hate her new husband. His fathers might be a little overbearing at times but at least they cared.

Before he could slide into complete self-pity, Gemma’s name popped up on his screen again asking if they were on for tonight because Amy was already concocting a plan to distract their father, so Gemma could swipe a few bottles of whiskey from the storeroom of the Alibi. His own father’s blue eyes flashed across Yev’s mind.

‘Fuck it,’ he thought. Besides, he needed a cool story to tell his own kids one day and what was the saying...It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. He could imagine his dad replying to that with, ‘it’s pretty fucking hard to ask for forgiveness if you’re dead.’

“Well you only live once,” Yev told the empty house. ‘And die once,’ the empty house seemed to chant.

Tapping into his conversation with Gemma, he decided that they could have a party but it didn’t have to be a rager. If they kept it simple, his dads would never know anything went down while they were at some concert listening to a senior citizen band from million years ago.

**********

“Fuck, Gallagher! That song gets you going every time,” Mickey panted from where his face was pressed into the crisp pillow case on the king sized hotel bed. 

“What else you gonna do to a song called Pound Town?” he mumbled into the damp skin along his husband’s spine.

“Well, play that shit at my funeral.”

“What? So I can sit there with an awkward boner while they bury you?” Ian cracked up.

“Yeah, now grab my phone and turn that shit off. I could hear a bunch of texts coming in on your phone, man.” He squirmed free from Ian’s death grip on his hips. “Can’t get one fucking night of peace. Probably one of your goddamn siblings.”

Ian rolled to the left, snagging the phone off the nightstand. “Hmm, looks like Lip needs something. Sent like half a dozen texts.”

“Co-dependent fuckhead.”

Frowning at Mickey, Ian showed him the phone screen, then a frown formed on his face too.

“What the fuck is he talking about? He drinking again?”

“No, he got his 90 day chip, Mick. He’s serious this time about getting sober.”

“Then what the fuck is he rambling about a goddamn party for?” Mickey shoved the phone out of his face, needing a fucking smoke. “And at our place? Jesus, isn’t that Gallagher shithole enough of a party for him?”

Ian sat up, swivelling his legs over the edge of the bed squinting down at the phone again. Lip was apparently pissed that he hadn’t been invited to the party...? Did he want to come with them to the concert? Spend the night in a four star hotel?

“You think he wanted to come with us on our night out?” he muttered in confusion.

“Pfft, that seems weird, even for him, Ian.” Mickey kicked their scattered clothes around looking for his underwear. Which ones were his? “Text the guy and find out or it’s gonna bug you all night.”

Ian’s face fell as a thought crossed his mind.

“Mick, do you think…” 

“Not if I can avoid it,” he grumbled tossing Ian’s boxers at him.

“Could it be...Yev?”

Stuffing a foot into his jeans, Mickey glanced at Ian. “Could what be Yev? Get dressed, Gallagher, I need a smoke and we gotta walk a mile to get to a fucking smoking zone.”

“Lip thinks there’s a party at OUR place… but WE’RE not at our place…” he spoke slowly while pulling on his jeans, hoping Mickey would catch on before he had to say the words that were guaranteed to ruin their night. “But maybe someone else is…?”

Ian watched as the look of confusion on Mickey’s face morphed into the disappointment that Ian had seen directed at him in the past. He hated seeing it again, even if he wasn’t the cause this time.

Holding up a hand to stall whatever Mickey was about to say, Ian added, “Lemme call Lip really quick.”

He got a grunt in response, then watched Mickey start tossing clothes around clearly taking out his mounting frustration on any material he came in contact with. “Why we got so many damn clothes?” 

Ian tried Lip a second time wondering why he wasn’t answering, and Mickey continued to bitch about how uncooperative their clothing was. His jeans were hanging on his hips because he hadn’t buttoned them, and the grey shirt he was yanking over his head was Ian’s.

“Mick, that’s my--” He stopped talking when Mickey’s head appeared through the material, eyes narrowed to a dangerous glare. 

“You gonna stand there like a fucking statue all night, Gallagher?”

Ian pulled the comforter back from the bed revealing the missing clothing, including Mickey’s t-shirt.

“Get dressed. Pick you up out front, man.”

“Sure, shall I pack our bags and check us out then first, maybe?” Ian grouched at the now empty room. Fucking waste of money. Had he known they weren’t staying he would’ve just fucked Mickey in the car or the alley and saved himself the cash. Perhaps if he played his cards right, he could persuade the hotel clerk to give them a discount.

*********

"So when can we go back to the hotel and use the voucher I wheedled outta the clerk?" Ian pondered as they made a left onto their street. 

“How about you let me deal with this stupid shit before--”

“Yeah, yeah I got it!” Ian interrupted, not in the mood for an additional rant. “So what IS your plan for dealing with this stupid shit, Mick?”

"Depends… you really think the little dipshit could be hosting a fucking party?" There were definitely lights blazing from both their front porch and their living room as Mickey pulled in behind a rusted sedan. "Better be a goddamn burglar."

“No one would be stupid enough to mess with our place, not that we got much worth stealing,” Ian lamented. “Think we need a plan, Mick”.

"My plan is to kick adolescent ass. Easy peasy." He jammed the gear shift into park and waved at Ian to pass him the smoke he'd just lit. "What else is there to plan?"

"We don't know what to expect. Can't just go in with guns a blazin'. Ya, know?"

“Fucking watch me!” 

Mickey was out the door, slamming it behind him and getting Ian’s ass in motion. “Mickey wait!” he shouted coming around to his side of the car. “What do we want the outcome to be?” 

“The fuck you talking about, Gallagher?” Mickey demanded, stopping suddenly while the cigarette came dangerously close to Ian’s face as Mickey waved his hands in exasperation.

“I mean at the end of tonight, do we want to teach Yev or just humiliate him?”

“Jesus,” he let out a stream of smoke along with his frustration, “you been reading more parenting books or some shit?”

“Maybe,” Ian shrugged.

“Told you to stop that, man. Just confuses shit.” 

“Um, Mick…”

“What the fuck ever, Gallagher,” he frowned in frustration, eyes on the front of the house. “We 

got a party to deal with. No time for fucking feelings.”

“The book specifically says that our response to misbehaviour can’t be emotional either though,” Ian countered. 

Mickey turned back to the redhead. “Imma beat you to death with that book, Gallagher. Show you some mis-fucking-behavior.”

“Baaaabe,” Ian soothed, smirk lurking around his lips. “What emotion are you feeling right now?”

“Fuck you is what I’m feeling, Ian.”

“Try again.”

Releasing a puff of smoke in the direction of Ian’s face, he scowled. “Is murder an emotion?”

Releasing a sigh, he waved the smoke away. “In this case I’m gonna say yes, but I know you don’t want to murder Yevvy, do you?”

“The fuck? Course not,” he pulled back looking at Ian like he was an idiot.

“Then who do you…oh!” Ian returned his scowl, chin lifting microscopically with certainty in his position on this matter. “The book says--”

“If you say ‘the book’ one more fucking time, Ian…”

“Then what, Mickey? You’ll murder me with it?” His chest puffed out a bit matching Mickey’s now. “I’d rather get my parenting tips from _the book_ than any fucking role model we have.”

Flicking the butt into a withering rose bush, Mickey pursed his lips in annoyance. “You’re a broken fucking record.”

“We’re supposed to listen to our kids not storm in angrily,” Ian continued, completely ignoring the storm in front of him.

“You don’t listen to shit, Gallagher.”

“Oh my god, maybe if you ever read the fucking book, any fucking book, you’d know what I was talking about!”

They were chest to chest, eyes locked, neither willing to back down, until Mickey stepped back.

“He’s MY fucking kid. I’ll deal with it.” 

“Excuse me?” Ian shot back, hands on hips.

“I’m just saying I got this, Ian.”

Then he turned toward the house, determined to get this shit over with. When his boot hit the first step, he looked over his shoulder fully expecting his nagging husband to be hot on his trail, but the redhead was sitting on the hood of their car. Mickey could see the orange halo of a lit cigarette and didn’t need to be close to also see the tilt of his chin.

Ian was pissed. Jesus, what was his problem, now? Were those stupid ass books so damn important to him?

Mickey sent a glare in his direction, hoping to snap him out of his pissy mood through mental will power but got no response. Instead, he pulled out his phone and shot off a text to the damn redhead.

Mickey: wtf

Ian: arent u busy dealing with YOUR kid

Mickey ran a knuckle over his nose, sniffing loudly, but he felt a slight softening at the sight of the redhead sitting alone on the hood of the car. The guy might be annoying as fuck sometimes but he loved their kid as much as Mickey did and probably deserved to have his say in how they handled this. 

Convincing him to let his self-righteous anger go was another matter though. He was gonna need to use the get out of jail free card. After Ian had insisted that they take premarital counseling through his wellness account at work, they’d established what was basically a safe word. But instead of shutting down any of the kinky shit they got up to, it was used to shut down any bickering they got up to. And he currently needed Ian to get on board, so he glanced back at his phone.

Mickey: pound town

He watched Ian read the text then look up at the night sky for a moment before jumping off the hood of the car. Pocketing his cell phone, he jogged across the street toward Mickey. 

“That’s a low blow.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t have time for you to bitch me out right now.”

“How convenient for you.”

He was on the same step as Mickey, so he got a clear view of the dark eyebrows when they lifted in challenge. Ian knew the rules. When one of them pulled the card, no questions were asked.

“Fine,” Ian said, getting in Mickey’s face a little. “Lead the way.”

“I will.”

“Good, then do it.”

“I am.”

They were nose to nose, angry eyes narrowed, hands on hips.

“Ass,” Ian muttered.

“Dick,” Mickey spat back.

A new song started to pump through the slightly open front window, the heavy base snapping them out of their bickering. 

Ian tipped his head forward meeting Mickey’s lips. “I got your back.”

With a pat to Ian’s cheek, Mickey turned to the front door preparing for battle, but he glanced once over his shoulder for reassurance from Ian before turning the door handle.

  
“What the fuck is going on here?” His voice boomed over the teeny bopper crap pouring out the stereo speakers, making him miss the driving rhythm of a good Breed song. Not missing a beat, his eyes scanned the room zeroing in on his teenaged target.

Yevgeny sank back into the couch cushions when his father’s angry eyes abruptly stopped on him. “Oh fuck!” he groaned, getting agreeable nods from the girls sitting on either side of him. Mickey didn’t take his eyes off his son to determine who the little tarts were, but Ian’s astonished voice filled in the blanks.

“Gemma? Amy?”

Several teens tried to disappear into the wallpaper while others scattered out the back door, but Mickey’s attention was still only for his son. He walked slowly across the living room and someone turned off the god awful music, making the moment even more dramatic.

Holding his hand palm out, Mickey nearly whispered. “Gimme that beer, Yevgeny.” 

Big blue eyes lifted in defeat as the bottle was dragged from his grip. ‘I-I-I,” he sputtered.

After one long pull, Mickey swiped the back of his hand along his mouth. “Did you throw a fucking party in my fucking house…” 

Yev’s eyes shot around the room, landing on each of his friend’s faces. Mickey could see the battle building in his son. Take his father’s punishment but endure the humiliation in front of his buddies, or face off against a man who’s retaliation was legendary, even among Yev’s peers. He dropped his eyes in defeat, but before he could respond, his dad’s voice filled the silence.

“Without fucking inviting us?” He gestured at himself and Ian, who was now standing beside him.

Yev’s mouth could definitely catch flies, and Mickey would laugh at the sight except he was still pissed off at the nerve of the little shit. So he bent forward, catching Yev’s chin with the tip of his index finger and snapping his mouth closed. With a little more force than necessary.

Point taken, Yev stood up. “Um, sorry, Dad.”

“Mhm,” Mickey responded. “Ian, will ya get me another beer?” 

As Ian made his way toward the cooler set up near the TV, he confiscated beer bottles from each kid he passed.

“And put some fucking Metallica on,” he said to Yev as he sat in the space on the couch vacated by his son. “Hello ladies, what a lovely surprise.” The sisters shot each other a look, secret messages passing between them. Mickey shook his head. “Uh uh.”

*************

Ian climbed the stairs, tired from the events of the day, especially having to deliver Gemma and Amy into their mother’s hands once she found out about the party. He just wanted to crawl under the covers and snuggle up to his husband’s body. Lamp light was coming from the open bedroom door when he finally arrived at the top of the stairs.

“Yev did a pretty good job of cleaning,” Ian commented as he closed their bedroom door behind himself. Mickey was already in bed, a book laying across his lap. “Did you help?”

“Fuck no,” he smirked. “Gonna make him clean the bathroom tomorrow too. Maybe mow the lawn.”

“Did you talk about what happened at all?” Ian tossed his jeans on the dresser and removed his watch. “Or is scrubbing the toilet the extent of it?”

“Nah, while he was straightening shit up, I made a list of all his sins, then we discussed a punishment for each that would fit the crime.”

Ian stopped at the foot of the bed in surprise. “Woah, like what?”

With a shrug, Mickey explained. “Gotta apologize to Kev and Vee for being in cahoots with the girls to steal their booze. Maybe do some cleaning jobs at the Alibi too.”

“Reasonable,” Ian concluded sitting on the edge of the bed. “Anything else?”

“Sure, kid’s neck deep in punishments. He’s not allowed out of the house unless he’s accompanied by a parent for two weeks.” Mickey pulled the covers back slightly and gave the mattress a quick pat.

“Only two weeks?” Ian questioned wondering if it was a good enough punishment for this crime.

“Figure I’ll be sick of him by two weeks. I didn’t do nothing wrong so no sense punishing me.”

Ian grinned and leaned back onto his pillow with a long sigh. “That it?”

“Sure, I lost interest at that point. ‘Sides a kid needs to have some fucking fun, ya know?” Mickey rubbed a foot along Ian’s thighs. “I also need to have some fun, ya know?”

“What about telling Svet?” Ian asked, fingers absently tracing Mickey’s hip.

“Ew, Ian, way to kill the mood.” When he started to remove his foot, Ian clamped it between his. “Jesus, no, we ain’t telling her. Yev’s no good to us dead. We need someone to look after us when we’re old.”

“I was thinking,” Ian began.

“Not again.”

He ignored that in favor of getting to he point. “I think Yev really hates going to his mom’s now that she’s with her new dude.”

“You mean her grandpa?” Mickey snickered and Ian rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what Mickey was getting at. “Yeah, probably cause she’s busy gargling old m--”

Pinching Mickey’s hip, Ian continued. “Anyway! He’s 14 now. We should let him make his own decision.”

“Yeah,” Mickey smiled. “Fuck that bitch.”

He tilted his head toward Ian with a sweet smile, and Ian narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, Ian, I was really hogging all the parenting tonight. Gotta thank you, man, for letting me take the lead and all that shit.”

“Mhm,” Ian murmured.

“So I’m gonna let you take the lead on this whole Svet thing.” With that he picked the book up off his lap and pretended to read.

  
“Sure, Mick, thanks so much. Where’d you learn about the punishment fitting crime style of parenting, anyway?” he reached out to tilt the book so he could see the cover. “

“Pfft, I can fucking read as good as the next asshole.”

“Yeah, you reading a parenting book?”

“Something better.” His grin widened as he dropped the book in Ian’s lap.

“ _The Gay Kama Sutra_ ,” Ian whispered.

“Was looking for a position called Pound Town…”


End file.
